Holmes Sherlock Holmes
by phantom-lass
Summary: This is a FEM-Sherlock story set before my other stories. Set just after 'the fall' Mycroft decides the best way to keep his sister safe is to ship her off to MI5 for a while until he can arrange a replacement Watson. Set in the time of Skyfall. Enjoy. :)
1. Chapter 1

**I OWN NOTHING.**

Mycroft watched as his little sister, his baby sister, slept on his office sofa. Her face was relaxed, all the tension caused by the past days gone - for the moment. But the darkness of the material of the pillow beneath her rumpled hair only highlighted just how pale she was. How much the last few days had really taken out of her. He knew that deep down inside she was breaking apart.

He shut the lid of his laptop and pushed it to the side with a sigh of disgust and froze when a sleepy groan came from the figure on the sofa. He remained still until Sherlock's breathing settled to deep and steady once again.

She insisted on continuing with her self-appointed quest of dismantling Moriarty's network of associates and contacts, and he knew that there would be no one better suited to the task than his sister. Sherlock was tenacious when it came to achieving her goals – not that he was much different - and she would not stop until every last facet of Moriarty's set-up no longer existed. There was more than one memorable experience from her childhood that he could bring to his mind with ease. But this was no childhood muddle that he could easily pluck her out of it the need had arose –which it never did.

He worried for her.

Emotions and relationships were things both of them had issues with – of a sort – but, unlike him, Sherlock needed people in her life. She had few in her life it was true but she was loyal to them and the events of the past days had only gone to prove how far she was willing to go to keep them safe. Well, he was willing to go a lot further than that to keep his sister safe. John had no idea how close he had come to being wiped from existence on more than one occasion just so that Mycroft could be certain he would never harm his sister.

He regretted holding back now. Look where it had led to. Sherlock faking her death so that a maniac wouldn't kill the handful of people she had allowed close to her…the few people _he_ had allowed close to her. He never should have let it happen. He should have taken better care of her.

Mycroft looked to the pile of half a dozen or so files on the side of his desk. They were mountainous. Not the bare bones of peoples lives. They contained EVERYTHING about the men they were about. From blood types to favourite drinks to one night stands.

He had told her there was no advantage to caring. Time and again he had told her not to get attached. And she listened to him as far as her cases were concerned. She remained cool and aloof with her clients, focusing on 'the Work'. For one so young she could compartmentalize extraordinarily well.

He only wished she would have exercised the same restraint with her personal life and spared herself this pain.

But despite her best efforts her personality did not lend itself to being alone. She needed the contact. He supposed he should be grateful she stopped at three. But now they were gone and it was back to the way things had been when Sherlock was a child. Just the two of them, with Mycroft watching over her.

Once again he was all that she had.

He had made all of the arrangements to get her to mainland Europe and he knew that like a hound on a scent she would home in on those who were guilty. Like an avenging angel she would strike them from the shadows. One by one she would find them.

Mycroft pulled the files towards him as his sister continued to sleep. Some of them sliding from the main pile. He sighed and rearranged them. One after another he lay them in a row across his desk.

He needed to find a replacement for John Watson and MI6's elite was the best place to start looking. Sherlock liked to joke about his being the British Government, but it had its perks. Countless people in countless agencies owed him countless favours and he was about to start collecting. With interest if necessary.

Sherlock had a lot to face in her future and he was only going to send the best along with her.

He flipped open the first file and began to read.

Only the best…

* * *

Sherlock looked at him as though he was going insane. And maybe he was. But it was the best solution he could think of.

While the travel arrangements had been seen to before she had even taken a step off that roof there were still things he wished to see in place before he let Sherlock out of his sight. And this was the best thing he could think of, and it would sharpen her skills in areas she did not often use. Sherlock would soak in the information like a sponge.

"It is settled Sherlock,"

He was standing over her where she was still sitting on the sofa, her hair sticking out at all angles from where it had escaped the confines of the braid she kept it in.

"Mycroft-" she began to speak but he stopped her, reaching out to tuck the stray hair behind her ears. She looked more like the child she used to be than ever.

"I want you as safe as I can make you before you leave Sherlock," his sister looked at him, her face pale, the shadows beneath her eyes a stark purple, "Besides, think of all the toys you will have to play with,"

A gleam came to her eyes at this and he tugged softly on a curl before walking away and retaking his seat behind his desk.

He looked at the files that still covered the table. One - the thickest of the lot with safety pinned doctors reports and notes sticking out at odd angles from his studying of it late into the night - was still in front of him. Shame the agent was dead. He wondered why M had included it in the selection, according to the last piece of paper to be included in the file he had died in action, his body never recovered…

"You're right. Working in bowels of Vauxhall may be fun,"

Mycroft sighed, feeling a headaches coming on.

* * *

 **Guess whose file was sneaked into the running? :)**

 **I am so sorry for the long silence on my account. I haven't been keeping very well and this is only being posted because I found the misplaced memory stick. I have a few chapters ready to go and hopefully I will keep some momentum going and add on where needed.**

 **I hope you enjoy this new Girl Sherlock story line.**

 **xx**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Sherlock did as she was told, for one of the few times in her life keeping in mind her brothers warning words to her. She was to keep calm at all times and cause no scenes. Sherlock knew that if she wanted to untangle the web that was Moriarty's world quickly she needed the intelligence that was offered by MI6. She could do it alone. But this time she favored the path of least resistance. She would keep her mouth shut and her thoughts to herself until she had all she needed.

Unfortunately, she had not foreseen the Vauxhall building being blown to hell and her 'boss' being killed in the blast. Being boosted from anonymity as a lab rat to suddenly being Q was not on the agenda.

Still, she would work with the hand she had been dealt for the moment. After all, disappearing was frightfully easy - so easy that even a double 0 could do it without being detected until he had decided to come home on his own. Of course, if she had been in charge of Q branch then she would have been able to find him… James Bond it seemed had the disturbing ability to survive the unsurvivable.

And now he had proved himself again by bringing home a terrorist when he hadn't even past the physical.

An interesting man this James Bond.

So she followed behind Bill, who had been sent by M. The man usually had a smile to spare but not today. She studied the expression on his face, the way he held himself. Something had happened. Something with Sylva.

* * *

Bill held up a tablet to her, the screen showing a paused video.

"You should watch this before you go in,"

She frowned slightly at this. She had things to be doing and this was not at the top of the list. Bloody secret service. She never did have the patience for all of the cloak and dagger nonsense.

She pressed play.

The screen showed her the containment room that several of her Workers - you hear that John! I have 'Workers' - had assisted to set up.

And in the cell was the man who had caused the destruction at Vauxhall.

Sylva looked directly at the camera that was situated in top corner of the cell.

"Clever girl, Miss Holmes," it was almost a croon.

Sherlock's fingers turned icy around the tablet.

How did he know?

"I want to speak with your Quartermaster. Think of it as my last request before life imprisonment," he was speaking to the camera the whole time and didn't look away until he had posed his request and only then did he look to one of the few people who were in the room.

Sherlock recognized the imposing broad shoulders and blond head of James Bond and the shorter frame of M.

"Not going to happen," M clipped out, her back straight, her voice cold.

Sylva let out a theatrical sigh, rolling his head from side to side.

"Yes, yes I know. Terrorist. Ya de ya,"

"Exactly," M nodded her head once.

"Come on mommy. Just this once,"

Sylva leaned towards the glass and she noticed the way that the double 0 and guard tensed slightly.

"It will be worth her while," the prisoner whispered.

* * *

She entered the containment room, a cell like a glass tube was in the middle of the room, white light spilled from it. And inside it was the man that 007 had brought home.

There was something eerily familiar in the maniacal grin he gave her.

M turned as she came up beside her and nodded in greeting while Bond simply looked at her as though she was a truant child.

Before anyone could tell her just why she was here - after all, what did they expect her to do? Torture the man? While tempting she was hardly adept at such things - a chuckle, child like and gleeful came from the prisoner.

Sherlock focused on him.

She had read up on the files about him - had even hacked into some she shouldn't have - and she knew what a faulty suicide pill had done to him. She wondered if he was still medicated for the damage it had done to his throat and stomach. And his face. Studying him now there was hardly any telltale sign of the damage he lived with. Nothing but the slightly unnatural set of his jaw…

He was in orange - so cliched - with his arms secured with a flat jacket.

M was taking no chances with this man.

"Clever girl," the man leaned forward, his eyes glittering, "Miss Holmes," he stage whispered to the glass.

Sherlock tensed.

How did he know?

Sherlock stood opposite Sylva, concentrating on holding her head high and back straight.

Sylva looked at her, his eyes racking her frame up and down.

"So," he began, standing from his bench, "You are the little girl who toppled an empire,"

It wasn't a question.

Sherlock simply held out her arms and dipped her head in acknowledgment of the comment.

"I constantly tell people that I am dangerous when bored," she shrugged, bringing her arms back to her side and folding them over her chest, "What can I say…?"

Sylva laughed at this, seeming to be genuinely amused at her words.

"I must congratulate you Miss Holmes. You really did a number on old Jimmy,"

"And I must thank you for being caught, Mr Sylva,"

Silence fell between them at this. Sherlock was itching to leave the room and get back to her work but she forced herself to remain still, her eyes never leaving those of the maniac in the cell.

"Ah, I see," Sylva whispered, nodding his head in sudden understanding, "You are preparing for a crusade, Miss Holmes,"

Sherlock couldn't stop the quirk of her brow at this. He was good.

"Would you care for some tips?"

This was not what she had expected.

"Why?" she asked, taking a step closer to the cell, her feet moving almost without her consent.

John always did say she had no survival instincts when there was a mystery to be solved.

"Good citizen," the man answered, smiling as though this was a perfectly normal conversation.

Sherlock simply scoffed at this.

"Oh alright then," Sylva chuckled, almost skipping the few steps towards the glass, "Lets just say I like you,"

* * *

Sherlock left the cell room and returned to Q branch.

She had a job to do. She had equipment to hack into and plans to try and unwind that concerned Sylva and his own crusade of the moment. But afterwords…afterwords she would be seeing if a word he had spoken had been true.

She forced herself to take a deep steadying breath before entering the brightly lit complex that was Q branch.

All in its own time.

 **Hi everyone :)**

 **In my head it would totally make sense that the Sylva of Bond and the Moriarty would be acquainted. A sort of 'trading insults while sipping possibly**

 **poisoned brandy across a table from each other' sort of relationship. ;)**

 **Hope you enjoyed and are having a safe weekend.**

 **x**


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